


Cat Got Your Tongue

by eamesish



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Catboys & Catgirls, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-07
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:03:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eamesish/pseuds/eamesish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter what anyone might say, this is <i>not</i> Eames’ fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cat Got Your Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt read: "Happy Birthday!!! Can I prompt some high school Bane/Blake? Or catboy!Arthur and Eames? Hope you have a good one…" Since I've already fulfilled the HS AU, I did the second one! :')

No matter what anyone might say, this is  _not_ Eames’ fault.

Alright, so maybe he’d been having some rather strange fantasies lately, and maybe he’d sort of been wishing it would happen, and maybe they’re in his dream, but that doesn’t mean that he’s really to blame, right?

He thinks so, but he has a feeling the affected party does not feel so inclined.

“Eames,” Arthur says, his tone deceptively even,  _“fix it.”_

Eames would very much like to fix it—well, except for the fact that he doesn’t actually want to fix it at all. It seems that his fantasy du jour has possessed his subconscious so much that it’s actually managed to manifest itself onto Arthur, giving him, well…

“I don’t know, kitten, I think it’s kind of endearing, actually,” Eames replies, snickering at his wittiness because _Arthur is literally turning into a kitten._  From his head have sprouted two small cream-colored ears, the tips flecked with beige, and from the base of his spine a similarly colored tail has emerged. It swishes back and forth in irritation as Eames tries to hold back his laughter, and as he watches it he wonders exactly how far the transformation has gone.

“Tell me, Arthur,” he continues, a hand slipping behind his back out of Arthur’s sight. “What would happen if I gave you a toy mouse? Right here, right now?”

He brings his arm back in front of him and reveals a small, pink mouse dangling from his hand by the tail, waving it back and forth. He swears he can actually see Arthur’s pupils dilate, feel the tension in his body increase tenfold, and his reflexes have grown so suddenly quick that Eames barely manages to get the thing out of the way when he swipes.

“Oh, and I suppose a nice plate of tuna would do right by you, then?”

Arthur curls his lip but Eames can tell the idea appeals, even as he refocuses on the mouse waving around in front of him. Arthur swipes once, twice, three times, and he almost gets the damn thing each time, both parties growing more competitive as the number of swipes goes up. Arthur is determined, it seems, to get the damn thing, and Eames is determined to keep Arthur dancing to his tune, so neither party is keen on giving in.

Finally, in one last, desperate bid for the mouse, Arthur wiggles his rump— _he actually wiggles it,_ Eames sees this with his own two eyes—and lunges, toppling Eames onto the ground with a thud. The mouse is still out of Arthur’s reach but Eames has a different problem now, because Arthur is straddling him and he  _distinctly_  recalls something like this happening in one of his naughtier trains of thought and he has to admit that it’s all very distracting, especially the sharp, challenging way Arthur’s looking at him, and if Eames didn’t know better he’d exclaim something along the lines of “take me now!”

It seems Arthur has read his mind, though, because he leans forward, his breath hot against Eames’ face, and doesn’t stop until his mouth is right beside the Forger’s ear.

“Eames,” he says breathily, his voice suddenly coated with a heavenly layer of velvet, “if you don’t do something about this right now, I am going to turn you into my own personal scratching post.”

Arthur’s eyes are flinty, and suddenly Eames realizes that there are sharp things digging into his shirt. Looking at Arthur’s hands, he finds real catlike claws there, wicked and dangerous and definitely in the hands of someone who should definitely not have wicked and dangerous claws anywhere even remotely in their vicinity.

“Get a move on,  _kitten,”_  Arthur says venomously and, well, Eames doesn’t have to be told twice.


End file.
